


Love begins (with you and me)

by sunshine_kitcat (moonkevin)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy New Years!, Light Angst, M/M, sungchan just loves taro so much and honestly who doesnt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkevin/pseuds/sunshine_kitcat
Summary: “Happy new year, baby,” Shotaro whispers, dropping his head onto Sungchan’s shoulder as he leans over, shifting their blanket in movement. Sungchan lets himself grin, snaking an arm behind Shotaro’s back and resting on his waist as his eyes tear away from the colours.Shotaro’s staring at the lights still, all of the colours in the world reflecting off of his face and sparkling eyes as a content smile rests on his lips. Sungchan could compare him to a flower like this, delicate and beautiful.“Happy new year,” Sungchan smiles, content. “And I love you.”
Relationships: Jung Sungchan/Osaki Shotaro
Comments: 36
Kudos: 226
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2020/21





	Love begins (with you and me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenomeow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenomeow/gifts).



> For isis, who's been my beta for the past tumulous year. Words can't express how thankful I am for you for all of the pain you've let me put you through <3

Love, Sungchan thinks, is more words, numbers or definitions.

Sungchan sighs, staring out of the window as he watches colour streak through the sky, the reverberating booms of the fireworks rumbling the floor beneath him. He’s sitting cross-legged on the cold wood, a fluffy blanket thrown over his shoulders and his biggest hoodie hanging off of his frame. There’s the distinct smell of alcohol in his breath from the champagne earlier, for celebrating New Years alone.

Well. Almost alone.

“Happy new year, baby,” Shotaro whispers, dropping his head onto Sungchan’s shoulder as he leans over, shifting their blanket in movement. Sungchan lets himself grin, snaking an arm behind Shotaro’s back and resting on his waist as his eyes tear away from the colours.

Shotaro’s staring at the lights still, all of the colours in the world reflecting off of his face and sparkling eyes as a content smile rests on his lips. Sungchan could compare him to a flower like this, delicate and beautiful.

“Happy new year,” Sungchan smiles, content. “And I love you.”

Shotaro opens his mouth, and a firework streams across the sky and—

_Boom._

—Sungchan’s sitting in a practice room, sweaty and out of breath as he stares at himself in the mirror, defeated. He’s 20 this year, the fifth year spent training in the dark, prison-like walls of SM’s trainee practice rooms. Sungchan’s bones are like mush, brain unable to even hear the music at this point, only feeling the deep surges of the bass and watching a boy in front of him dance to the song.

Shotaro’s a new trainee, arriving only last November, yet he’s leagues above Sungchan in dancing. No one knows how, Shotaro’s stilted and basic Korean insufficient to even understand them, much less tell his life story. Still, Sungchan hears a rumour from another Japanese trainee—Giselle—that Shotaro used to be in Japan’s top dance crew. It would make sense, really.

Shotaro moves like water as he plays with the beat of the song like a butterfly in a field of flowers. Sungchan can’t help but stare, a poet’s worth of compliments itching on the tip of his tongue, but there’s not enough air in his lungs to say them. Shotaro mesmerizes when he moves, and air just seems like another luxury when Sungchan gets to watch Shotaro dance.

The song rides in energy, building up to the final chorus as Shotaro sidesteps into a spin, and the world seems to rise along with it. It builds and builds, holding up on the final drop until—

_Boom._

—Sungchan is hunched over the toilet, throwing up every last bit of his measly bit of breakfast as tears stream down his cheeks. His head is pounding, the fever rising and rising with every passing second Sungchan’s shin makes contact with the cold tiles. There’s a faint ring in his left ear, like it’s gone deaf without him knowing after one too many nights spent overtime in the studio.

A hand is resting gently on his back, rubbing soothing circles as another pushes Sungchan’s bangs back while he retches. There’s a light string of Japanese that grounds him, making no sense to Sungchan yet feeling like a world of medicine at the same time.

He feels like a butterfly in a hurricane, violent winds of pressure, despair, hopelessness called the Trainee Program ripping apart Sungchan’s fragile wings. He knows he just has to reach the Eye of the Storm and gain its approval before he can finally be lifted out of the darkness and into the limelight, but it’s hard.

Today, Sungchan feels like quitting.

The vomit stops all too soon, nothing left in Sungchan’s stomach as he almost drops his head into the toilet, only caught by Shotaro’s gentle hands as he guides Sungchan away. Shotaro flushes and helps Sungchan stand up, wiping the last traces of vomit away from Sungchan’s chin and lips before throwing it all out and returning to Sungchan.

He feels like an oasis, Sungchan thinks, like a breath of fresh air in the ocean of self-doubt and pain. He opens his mouth to say something stupid, brain addled by the too-high fever the trainee manager told him to just boulder his way through because they’re in quarantine and no one can see him. Shotaro looks up at that moment, and Sungchan’s heart hammers. And then—

_Boom._

—Shotaro is crying. Sungchan finds him hidden in the corner of the practice room, earbuds plugged in and tears slipping down his cheeks and Sungchan thinks this must be how the angels felt looking at humanity's suffering.

Shotaro is homesick, to no one’s surprise, the sound of old Japanese ballads leaking out of his earbuds and Sungchan’s muscles move before he does.

Shotaro fits perfectly in between the space between Sungchan’s arms and chest, his sniffles quieting almost immediately and Sungchan can’t quite place a finger on the emotion in the pit of his stomach, but it feels warm. Like a flickering candle in the middle of Sungchan’s endless winter. He can't let it go out. Never.

Shotaro offers him one earbud after he’s calmed down enough, unable to explain his problem. As soon as Sungchan slips the device on, Sungchan’s guess of Shotaro’s ‘sickness’ becomes confirmed.

They exchange hushed whispers in languages neither can understand, but the weight of their voices is far more meaningful than any dictionary definition. Sungchan thinks he could stay like that forever, when suddenly, the door swings open, barreling towards the wall and—

_Boom._

—debut. The company pulls Sungchan and Shotsro into a room together, after practice ends. Sungchan wonders if they’re being scolded again, thinking about how his fever made Sungchan way too thin. The company would chew him out on that, considering that they just had physical examinations yesterday and—

“You're going to debut with NCT.”

Sungchan doesn't believe it.

He doesn’t let the two-syllable word hit, refuses to let it settle until he’s back into the confines of his dorm room, laying awake at 2 AM on the top bunk of a much too cramped dorm room.

Shotaro, as usual, is the one who derails that plan of ignoring things. He climbs onto Sungchan’s top bunk with a tentative head peek, poking Sungchan’s side lightly.

“Can I?”

Sungchan rolls over.

They spend the hottest night of that summer pressed up against one another, neither quite realizing the implications of the day’s events yet. Shotaro brings it up, like the first breeze of winter to tell Sungchan’s butterfly wings to carry him to warmth. When Sungchan unravels into tears of disbelief, Shotaro grips onto his hands and wipes Sungchan’s tears, like the warm embrace of the southern climate for a migrating butterfly.

And when Sungchan wakes up, Shotaro is still there, buried in his chest as strands of pristine black hair tickle Sungchan’s nose. He can’t bear to wake Shotaro up though, wanting to at least give back a droplet of water for the oasis Shotaro gave Sungchan so willingly.

Their roommates start to wake up, one of the guys on the opposite bunk leaning over the edge of the bed to drop down and—

_Boom._

—the Year Party. A million cameras pan in front of Sungchan, all zoomed in on the twenty-three boys scattered around the bench. Sungchan thinks to a point where they might be more, maybe thirty, or even fourty. He can’t imagine it, being a part of something so much bigger than himself.

Sungchan wonders how much he’ll ever be featured on the massive project, if the fans will even notice the awkward, giant walking disaster by the name of Jung Sungchan. Surely, they’d be all too busy being pulled in by his debut partner, the ever adorable otter with a dual persona on and off stage by the name of Osaki Shotaro.

Sungchan wonders if, maybe, one day, he’ll be forgotten too.

As if on cue, Shotaro looks away from his fixed curious gaze on the cameras and to Sungchan, expression unreadable. Sungchan wants to call it a sudden worry, as if Shotaro had gotten a gut feeling something was wrong and needed to check it out. Like a spider warily double-checking its babies before going off to hunt.

In more ways than not, Sungchan almost feels lost, no winds to carry him along in the still eye of the storm—debut.

In a few ways, though, Sungchan can’t help but be carried by the gentle winds of encouragement by his new members, urging him to showcase himself.

And among the winds is a single strand of warmth, existing in the carefully placed ‘you did great’s and ‘it’s ok’s. From an outside perspective, it’s hard to see how much Shotaro takes care of Sungchan like they were real brothers, Shotaro’s baby-ish foreigner image surely being the first thing fans will pick up. Sungchan just _looks_ like he’s the caretaker because he speaks the language fluently, but people don’t have to know what won’t hurt them.

But, no matter what, Shotaro is there for Sungchan, like a steady branch to call home after weeks of aimless flying. Shotaro is Sungchan’s to seek comfort in, and the reverse is true, as well.

One of the members—Yangyang, was it?—taps on his mic to check before the show begins, sending a loud reverb through the room, and—

_Boom._

—they’re living together now. Alone.

Sungchan’s been told a manager comes by often to check up on them and there’s an auntie to take care of their food and cleaning, but for the most part, Sungchan’s predictable future is spent in a single cramped apartment with Osaki Shotaro himself.

They decide to get separate rooms because the dorm is big enough for that, but they end up picking adjacent ones anyway. There are rumours of new members coming in some time in the future, but for now, it’s just the two of them.

Sungchan and Shotaro. The fast pair of best friends none of the trainees anticipated.

(Sungchan’s chest constricts.)

It’s either 4 PM or 4 AM right now, Sungchan and Shotaro gathered in their too-clean kitchen. Shotaro’s mom had sent a congratulatory care package all the way from Japan, one with Shotaro’s favourite food and a few tupperware containers of Korean dishes Sungchan’s only ever told Shotaro about in a half-asleep state while sharing a tiny bed not meant for two. 

Sungchan’s own parents live less than a city away, but despite all odds, Sungchan feels homesick. He’s spent his whole teenage years in SM’s spacious practice rooms, moulding himself into someone worth public love while making sure no one he knew is aware of his Trainee status. After all, no one knows when they might get shown the door out.

Sungchan unravels for the millionth time in front of Shotaro, feeling like an absolute idiot and child in front of the person he respects so much. Shotaro is his home away from home, a whole city away from the house Sungchan lings to return to. But he knows he can’t. He’s spent too long yearning for the sky, after all.

Shotaro doesn’t comment on the tears on Sungchan’s cheeks, neither does he poke fun at the quiet sniffles Sungchan gets from tasting Korean food from a foreigner who cooks with just as much love as his own mother.

Shotaro doesn’t comment when Sungchan is the one to sneak into his room that night, a teddy bear under one arm and puffy eyes. He only wordlessly scoots over, just like Sungchan did all those months ago.

And when the sky opens and cries along with Sungchan, no one can hear his whispers of affection Shotaro probably doesn’t even understand. Slowly, but surely, the sky parts its arms, and—

_Boom._

—Sungchan’s standing on an award show stage now, watching their leader lean into a microphone and speak to the world. There’s an award in his hand, a seal of approval for the group’s five years of nonstop running. It feels like a pat on the back for Sungchan, to know that the fans were just as passionate about this project as they all were, a victory accepted by twenty-three but shared between millions.

_Millions._

At some point, large numbers have started to lose their effect on Sungchan. Video and fancam views. Member count. Album sales.

Because in the end, when all is said and done and the guys all leave the show of numbers, all Sungchan has left are words.

Words of celebration, from the fans. Words of relief, from the members. Words of promise, from himself.

One day, Sungchan will hold that trophy himself, raised by his own hard work.

Shotaro pulls him onto the balcony that night, too high on adrenaline to sleep as he plays old Japanese love songs on his phone and asks Sungchan to dance with him. To celebrate their win. To celebrate Shotaro’s birthday. To celebrate _them_.

Sungchan pulls him in and leans down as far as he can, snaking an arm around a midsection he’s grown fond of holding over the year. The wind blows on their back, cold yet uplifting, like the first scent of spring coming to tell Sungchan to return to himself. Return to the oasis he fell in love with and chase the warm western wind he gave his heart to.

Shotaro tastes like fireworks and flowers, every notion of romance Sungchan had ever dreamt of, and _more_. He feels like comfort, like a steady candlelight over Sungchan’s head. Like the taste of home-cooked meals after months of an auntie who tries her best, but could never reach. Like the stir-fried rice Shotaro makes him at 4 AM, which tasted more like home than home ever tasted like.

Sungchan decides that maybe, this dance might be his favourite butterfly migration path.

The bass picks up again, the mellow Japanese love song reaching its chorus and Sungchan is forced to part for air.

“I love you,” he whispers, meaning every drop of that four-letter word. Shotaro smiles at him and returns as the bass picks up, opening his mouth and—

_Boom._

—it’s Christmas now. Shotaro fixes a reindeer headband onto Sungchan’s hair, patting down stray strands as his lips pursed in concentration. Sungchan is holding onto their measly little Christmas tree, trying his best not to let it fall. He had managed to stumble into the poor thing and utterly destroyed it, sticking perfectly to his Walking Disaster title.

Shotaro presses a gentle peck onto Sungchan’s nose when he finishes, eyes curled up in pretty half-moons Sungchan thinks can even guide a blind butterfly on a moonlit night. Sungchan smiles at him in return, fondness pulling at the cage in his chest before seeping into Sungchan’s reflexes and he leans down and pecks Shotaro on the forehead.

The giggle he receives sounds like wind chimes on a pleasant summer day.

Sungchan takes the luxury of stealing the speaker to pull Shotaro into a dance, swaying to classic live ballads from before they were even born. He had gotten half of the tracks from Jungwoo hyung, but Shotaro doesn’t need to know about Sungchan’s wingman.

Shotaro foregoes the hand holding almost immediately, burying his face in the crook of Sungchan’s neck as he smiles. His arms wrap around Sungchan’s shoulders while Sungchan’s automatically fall to his waist, like a magnet to its poles. They sway like that for who knows how long, too cheesy yet perfectly comforting at the same time.

Sungchan doesn’t think he’ll ever feel homesick again. Not for long at least.

Not when Shotaro’s cradled between his arms like this.

The music dies down into soft whispers as the song fades out, and Sungchan can start to feel Shotaro’s heartbeat against his own, gently humming—

_Boom._

—that beautiful four-letter word.

“I love you too,” Shotaro whispers back, meaning a million more words. But much like big numbers, words have slowly lost their weight to Sungchan. Nowadays, all he needs is a look and a carefully placed touch to tell a fairytale collection’s worth of stories.

The fireworks stop, and the new year begins.

Sungchan’s butterfly stops its never-ending journey—

_Flutter._

—and his life begins again.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on twitter @heonynchans about sungtaro <3


End file.
